Inevitable
by Peachuzoid
Summary: When Walt returned to ABQ, he found what he least expected. (AU post Granite State, "rescue fic")
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Occurs after Granite State. My attempt at erm, a somewhat happy "rescue" fic. Because Walt needs to save Jesse. Decided to break this up a bit. It's mostly finished so I'll post parts at a time.

* * *

Walt cautiously stepped over the bodies that now littered the ground and took a meander around the lab, M60 in hand. He had to set it up in flames. It would be the easiest way to dispose of all the evidence. He aimed to take a walk around, see how many vehicles he was working with, how many different entry points there were, etc. That's when he saw what looked to be some folded up tarp stretched out across a metal grate. Like they were keeping something hidden as if the abandoned hangar wasn't enough.

Just for kicks, Walt decided to see what the big fuss was. He walked over to the edge of the apparent hole in the ground and upon noticing a ladder, figured it must have been something fairly important. Something they kept tabs on.

Walt wasn't expecting to be looking down at a body.

He threw the tarp off and opened the grate before sliding the ladder down, descending it to see if the young man buried under the thin blanket was even alive. He could barely make out a mess of dirty blonde hair. Apparently Jack and his crew had kept a prisoner. Surely Walt could at least assist the man and get him out of there.

Or kill him.

As he approached the seemingly unconscious figure, his back to him, he suddenly felt himself coming to a stop. Dirty blonde hair. He shook his head. It couldn't be.

But it was. Walt found himself staring down upon his former chemistry student, his former partner. The shallow, raspy breathing belonged to that very man in front of him. Why was he still alive? Hadn't he told Jack that he wanted Jesse dead? Was that too hard to ask for? It had been months—_months_…

Jesse didn't look so good, Walt could already tell. Jesse had been kept a prisoner all this time. He had been kept alive and forced to cook. Walt suspected that he was long gone by now. Dead.

He cautiously gripped the blanket and pulled it back to expose a curled up, shackled, slightly shivering Jesse. And there was something about all of it, something that struck Walt as… wrong. He couldn't leave Jesse there.

Walt cleared his throat. "Jesse?" The name almost felt foreign on his lips now. Like Jesse was some lost memory on him, like it was all just some screwed up dream.

Jesse didn't stir. If it weren't for the shaky breaths and shivering, he'd have taken Jesse for dead. He hesitantly bent down and managed to dig his hands under Jesse's arms while trying to pull him up. With the weight and strength he lost over the months, he couldn't foresee himself carrying Jesse. But the moment he had tried to even move Jesse, he could tell he had lost quite a bit of weight too, his hands practically digging into bone.

What did those animals do to him?

No, Walt couldn't bog himself down with those thoughts right now. If he was serious about this, he had to get Jesse out of there. Though he wasn't sure how he was going to get them both up the ladder. And he still had to get the cuffs off of him.

Walt was able to get Jesse up to his feet, his arms wrapped around his torso to keep him steady. There was a sudden sharp, pained gasp out of the younger man and Walt immediately found himself trying to ease his grip at the realization that he was hurting him. But Jesse was hardly bearing any of his own weight and Walt couldn't really do a whole lot.

"Jesse? You've got to help me out here," Walt tried. He felt Jesse's hands brush across his arms. His breathing was more rapid and rattled as Walt could feel him trying to get his feet under him. He sounded almost like he was congested. And he probably had a few bruised or broken ribs.

Walt helped him make it over to the ladder the best he could. He didn't have to say another word as Jesse slowly ascended the ladder before him. Walt almost feared that he'd fall. Jesse could barely walk.

They just had to make it out of there. Walt would figure it out. He'd get Jesse somewhere safe. He'd make sure he was okay. Then he had some unfinished business to attend to.

Walt begun to walk Jesse to his car before Jesse dropped to his knees unexpectedly. He felt a sob rack Jesse's frame.

"No… No, no… Please… I—I did everything you asked—please don't kill him!"

Walt knew he probably should have said something to ease him but he was speechless. He didn't know what to say to Jesse to try and calm him. He wasn't even sure what Jesse was talking about.

Maybe he didn't want to know.

* * *

"Thank you, Mr. Lambert. Hope you have a nice evening."

Walt nodded his head in thanks as he gripped the key to the motel room in his hand. He had driven out of Albuquerque again just to be on the safe side and found a motel that would have to do. He paid cash for a couple nights. Figured it was at least a start while he tried to mull things over.

Walt was able to get Jesse into the back of his car and that was where he remained, sound asleep now. He opened the backdoor, thankful that he was able to find the key to the cuffs and chains in Todd's pocket. It would hopefully make moving Jesse a little easier. And now that the sun had set, he hoped there wouldn't be a passerby to catch sight of Jesse as he worked to get him to the room.

Walt managed to clumsily get Jesse to one of the beds. It didn't take long for Jesse to pass out again once his head hit the pillow, Walt sitting on the opposite bed staring over at his form. The younger man was in desperate need of attention. Walt didn't allow himself to register how bad Jesse was until they were safely locked away in the motel room, the light not bothering to hide anything from the naked eye.

Jesse's face was a mess—a mess of dried blood and bruises, lacerations. Some were probably deep enough to require stitches. There was dried blood on his clothes too, specifically his pants. The three quarter length shirt sleeves allowed visibility of his wrists. They were rubbed raw from where the handcuffs were once too tight, and there were rings of bruises just above where the cuff marks were. Walt was almost certain he even made out bruises around his neck.

He didn't even want to know how bad it was under his clothes.

Walt could tell that Jesse wasn't all there. He wasn't even sure Jesse recognized him or if Jesse even realized that Jack and his crew were dead now. Jesse just seemed to be stuck in permanent fear. Some sort of catatonic shock. It was obvious they did much more to Jesse than they needed to get the information from him. Especially since most of his injuries seemed recent. Injuries on top of injuries.

But he couldn't take Jesse to the hospital. Even if he did, he would have to drop him off on the sidewalk and leave him. He couldn't risk someone recognizing him. And the police and DEA were surely still trying to find Jesse too. He'd be arrested if Walt took him to the hospital…


	2. Chapter 2

A coughing fit awoke Walt sometime within the wee hours of the morning. The coughing fit didn't come from him though. It came from Jesse.

Walt quickly sat upright, grabbing his glasses from the nightstand, and glanced over at him. Jesse was curled up on his side, arms wrapped around his chest with his back facing him once again. He had fallen quiet but his breathing was still pretty rough. It worried Walt that he might have to take him to a hospital after all.

Walt had gotten to his feet and started to approach Jesse. He wasn't even sure what he could really do to help. His outstretched hand stopped just above Jesse's shoulder as Jesse spoke.

"Just kill me already..."

"Jesse, I—" Walt swallowed hard. Did Jesse recognize him after all? And what exactly was he supposed to say back to that? He couldn't kill Jesse. Not himself. Not personally.

Because Jesse was still like family to him.

Because Jesse was all he had left now.

Walt took his hand back and walked around the bed to where he could see Jesse's face. He tried not to cringe at the sight. Jesse didn't meet his stare. Instead, he seemed to blankly focus on whatever was behind Walt. Like he was looking right through him.

"I... I'm going to make a quick run to the store. Grab a few things..." Walt gave up on trying to get Jesse to look at him and sighed. "Will you... Will you be okay here for a bit?"

Walt didn't entirely expect an answer but figured he'd try anyway. He didn't want to just leave Jesse alone without telling him and truth be told, he didn't want to leave him by himself period. He wasn't sure about his mind's condition and whether he'd try to... kill himself... once Walt left. He assumed he wouldn't have to worry about him running away, considering he could barely walk. Handcuffing him to something was out of the question.

He'd just have to have some faith in him.

Just as Walt turned his back to Jesse and slipped his shoes on, keys in hand, he heard Jesse's voice from behind him:

"...Do what you have to do."

* * *

After managing to stumble upon a Wal-Mart (where there was enough traffic that he'd actually blend in with everyone), he had found enough stuff to keep him and Jesse going: food, water, some clothes, and different medications to mend Jesse back to his old self. Or try to.

Walt threw a wary smile toward a polite looking middle aged woman that passed by him in the motel parking lot. He walked to his room and opened the door, quickly shutting it behind him. Once he noticed Jesse was missing, he threw the bags he decided to carry all in one load onto the now empty bed.

"Jesse?" Walt tried not to grit his teeth at Jesse's disappearance. Had he left the room? Surely he wouldn't have been that careless in his condition. But Walt then noticed the bathroom door was shut and the light was on, peeking through the bottom of the door.

Walt lightly rapped his knuckles on the door and called out to the younger man again. He waited a brief moment in silence before trying the handle, finding it unlocked, and pushed it open.

Jesse was partially sitting on the floor with his head rested on his right arm across the toilet. It looked like he was unconscious again but he coughed a couple times, cracking his eyes open while placing his left hand over his ribs.

"Here," Walt stepped forward and offered Jesse an arm up while glancing down at the toilet. Jesse hadn't gotten sick.

Jesse hardly budged and left Walt to do all the work once again, picking him up from under his arms as gently as possible. Jesse got his feet under him and tried to walk with Walt's assistance.

"You think you'd like to try something to eat?"

There was a vague nod and Walt took that as a small victory. It felt like the closest he had come to getting Jesse to speak to him.

There was a lot to cover.

Walt got Jesse back over to his bed where he sat down on the edge and focused his stare down at the floor. Walt moved the bags to the ground and sorted through them. "I bought a few different things. I'm not sure how your stomach is doing but... How do saltine crackers sound?"

When Jesse didn't respond, Walt lowered the crackers and stared at him.

"Jesse."

Jesse slowly turned his head toward him but still didn't look directly at him. "Yeah… Thanks."

Walt opened the box and pulled a sleeve of crackers out, opening them too, before handing them to Jesse. He seemed to carefully reach out and take them from him, lowering his head once again. Walt tried to direct his attention elsewhere so that he didn't disturb Jesse.

* * *

Jesse had only eaten a few crackers before setting them on the nightstand between the two beds. Walt took a cautious side glance at the movement and could see Jesse curl back up on the bed, turning onto his side so that his back faced him. Walt had the television on but it was doing very little to truly distract him.

"…Mr. White?"

Walt blinked as he stared at Jesse's back. For a minute he thought he was hearing things, Jesse's voice was so faint.

Jesse had recognized him after all.

"Yes?"

"Why… why'd you come back?"

Walt thought about being honest with him. Thought about telling him everything that happened, how he had called to turn himself in when he was in New Hampshire, how he was ready to give up. But then he saw Elliot and Gretchen on the news. Gray Matter. _His_ work.

He had come back to take what was his, in a sense. He wanted his money back, wanted his family to have that money he worked for, and he wanted to put Elliot in his place. He never would have thought he'd run into Jesse.

"It's not important. Don't worry about it."

Silence stretched on and Walt figured the conversation had concluded. He flipped through a few more channels mindlessly, his eyes taking in the vibrant colors more than anything as he scanned through them.

"Are you gonna kill me?"

Walt set the remote on the bed beside him. "No. No, I'm not going to kill you, Jesse."

"Why?"

"I never wanted any of… _this_ to happen. I wanted to trust you. I wanted you to just hear me out. But when you threatened to come after me and my family, I couldn't risk it. And then… and then Hank…" Walt shut his eyes and tried to ignore everything that was hitting him in that moment. The anger, the fear, the depression. He pushed it all back down. It was over.

"I don't deserve to live, Mr. White…" Jesse sniffed, his voice lowered, "I don't have anything to live for."

"No, no." Walt now got to his feet and sat on the bed in front of Jesse. "You have everything to live for. The cops, the DEA—they're after _me_. Not you. I'll turn myself in when I'm done. You'll fly under the radar. They won't care about finding you. You can start over new—"

"He killed her…" Jesse's voice shook. He continued before Walt could ask what he meant, "I tried to get away and he killed her in front of me. It was my punishment. I tried to scream. Tried to warn her. It's my fault. I don't deserve to live."

Andrea. He was talking about Andrea. Had to be.

"Jesse, son…" Walt placed his hand on Jesse's shoulder, frowning at the visible tears that ran down his face.

Jesse violently jerked away from his touch like he was fire. The younger man, now the most awake Walt had seen since their re-acquaintance, had almost fallen off the bed as he got to his feet, cringing in pain as his left arm curled around himself. He threw a finger in Walt's direction.

"I'm _not_ your son." Jesse gritted his teeth out of what Walt could guess was frustration and agony. "You have no _idea_ what they—they did to me…"

Walt caught the shiver that ran through Jesse at his own words. "You're right, I don't. I'm clueless. I can only presume. But it's _over_, Jesse. They're dead."

Jesse bit his broken lip and closed his eyes, more fresh tears streaming. "They're here," he pointed at his temple. "They're not dead _here_."

Walt pondered if he and Jesse had a different interpretation of the word "they" and whom both were speaking of. Walt clearly meant Jack and his crew. He wasn't sure if Jesse meant something more or not.

* * *

The later the day got, the calmer Jesse seemed to become. Walt had him eased back down for a few hours before suggesting he try to get cleaned up if food and water wasn't agreeing with him. Jesse had accepted the thought and refused Walt's help, locking himself in the bathroom.

Walt sat on his bed staring blankly across the room at the off-white wall. He checked the digital alarm clock on the nightstand. It had been about ten minutes and he still didn't hear the water running for the shower.

Walt found himself back on his feet and lightly rapping on the bathroom door again after hesitating a few times. "You alright in there?"

"Fine," was Jesse's response, the slightest bite to his tone. There was a frustrated sigh. "Not fine…"

"I'm coming in," Walt warned. He turned the knob to find it surprisingly unlocked and Jesse sitting, fully clothed, on the toilet seat. "Trouble?"

"…Hurts." Jesse hung his head and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Come here." Walt stood in front of him and Jesse chanced a glance up at him. He got to his feet regardless, his hands immediately finding Walt's shoulders to catch his balance. Walt helped Jesse writhe out of his shirt that he had worn for who knows how many consecutive days and tossed it to the floor. Getting Jesse clean and out of those clothes should have been the top priority, really, but Walt figured some rest beforehand wouldn't hurt.

And now that Jesse was shirtless, Walt could only begin to imagine what Jesse had meant when he said he had no idea what he'd been through. His ribs were completely battered on both sides in varying colors ranging from yellow to a deep purple. There were bruises littering his arms and even his hips. Cuts and burns… Walt tried not to register the visible hand prints he could see in the purple shades of his hips.

He was glad he opted for sweatpants for Jesse after all.

"Do you… You need any more help?" Walt thought he'd offer before jumping to undo his pants after recognizing the bruises.

"Nah, I—I got it…" Jesse secured his left hand on Walt's shoulder as he tried to unfasten his pants. Walt gingerly placed his own hands on Jesse's shoulders to keep the younger man steady, allowing Jesse to use both of his hands.

"Just let me know if there's anything else you need." Walt took his hands back and ducked out of the bathroom, a wave of nausea hitting him all of a sudden.

He wasn't prepared for any of that.


	3. Chapter 3

Walt was sifting through his thoughts when he finally heard the bathroom door open. He sat up on his bed and glanced over to see Jesse flicking the light switch off, standing in the doorway. He was glad to see that the clothes at least fit: a simple black long sleeved shirt and dark gray sweat pants. Something clean and comfortable, and certainly none too small or constricting.

Walt bit his tongue from saying anything. The first time he could recall ever being too _nervous_ to say anything, afraid he'd say the wrong thing. It was pointless to ask Jesse if he was okay. He was clearly _not_ okay but there wasn't a whole lot Walt could do to reverse that. There was _nothing_ that could reverse what happened to Jesse.

Silence passed between them as Jesse hobbled over to his bed. A thought occurred to Walt in that moment as he shot up and to his feet and straight to the Wal-Mart bags. He found the bag that consisted of a few different medications, Neosporin, and Band-Aids. Clutching one of the few bottles of pills, he twisted the cap off and shook two of them out.

"Try these. It'll help you sleep and hopefully take some of the pain away." Walt extended his hand toward Jesse as he threw the bottle back into the bag.

Jesse eyed him warily and slowly closed the gap between them to take the two pills from him. Walt passed him a bottle of Gatorade from another bag and Jesse downed them without a second thought, thankfully.

Walt headed back toward his bed and Jesse his. Walt figured he would just shower in the morning so he slunk down into his own bed, ready to hit the light on the nightstand and remove his glasses. Just before he did either, he caught a glimpse of Jesse gripping onto the blanket as a bout of coughs hit him. His arms immediately hugged his chest and Walt heard the faintest moan.

"You alright?" Walt propped himself up on his elbow, eyebrow raised. "Your cough…?"

"Think it's from the cooks. Didn't have a—" Jesse motioned his hand in front of his face, "—respirator thing. Or whatever…"

Walt only nodded in response. If that was the case, there was no telling what Jesse could have inhaled. That probably helped explain why his breathing was so raspy—other than the obvious damage done to the outside.

He waited until Jesse had crawled under the covers before he hit the light off and set his glasses aside. Hopefully a good night's sleep would help them both.

* * *

The next morning came about quieter than the previous. Walt pushed the covers away and got to his feet, snatching his glasses from the nightstand in the process. Jesse was still out cold and curled up under the blanket. Like a small child.

Walt decided to opt for a shower before doing anything else. He gathered what clothes he needed from the shopping bags and piled them on the counter next to a fresh towel. His eyes landed on Jesse's clothes from yesterday piled in the corner with the towel he used. It was probably best that they be discarded, maybe even burned. But something caught Walt's attention and he bent down to see just what it was sticking out from the pants pocket.

A photo of Andrea and Brock.

It wasn't just any ordinary picture though. It was taken of them without their knowledge. Someone involved with Jack must have taken it. Walt gave them Andrea's location. He led them straight to her house when he was trying to flush Jesse out. And they used Andrea and Brock against Jesse.

Now Andrea was dead and Brock was God only knows where—foster care? Did he have someone who could take care of him?

This was technically Walt's fault.

He had killed Jesse's girlfriend. Again.

And Jesse blamed himself. _Again_.

Walt gritted his teeth and shook his head. That was ridiculous. Andrea's death was no one's fault but whoever killed her. It wasn't Walt's nor Jesse's.

He set the slightly crumpled picture next to the TV before returning to the bathroom. Part of him wanted to tear it up and throw it away. Jesse was better off without it, without the constant memory nagging at him and reminding him that she was gone now. Besides, Walt didn't have any pictures of his own family because he couldn't risk his identity. At least his family was still alive.

He couldn't think like that though. He had to try and do whatever Jesse needed. Jesse deserved that much. Especially from him. Especially now.

* * *

By the time Walt had stepped out of the bathroom from his shower, he noticed Jesse was lying on his side facing him. It took him another moment longer to realize Jesse was awake and that his eyes were rimmed red.

"Donuts? Coffee?" Walt offered.

Jesse rubbed his good eye and slowly made to sit up, his legs hanging off the edge of the bed. Walt could feel his eyes burning into the back of his head as he rummaged through the bags again.

"Why are you doing all of this?"

Walt grabbed the bag of chocolate Hostess donuts and straightened his back out as he stood back up. Jesse would never believe him if he told him the truth. That he needed Jesse. That Jesse was all he had. That Jesse felt like he was practically his son.

Jesse wouldn't believe him if he told him he had never felt so alone when he was cooped up in that shack all the way over in New Hampshire. That it felt good to see him.

He set the package of donuts down on the bed beside Jesse before turning his back to him and trying to operate the in-room coffee machine. He muttered a soft "I don't know" under his breath and hoped that would sufficient. Probably more plausible to Jesse than his real reason.

Walt knew his days were numbered. They were numbered back when he was first diagnosed with lung cancer. Before Heisenberg had been brought to life. And the past two years were no different. The only thing that changed was that the cancer was no longer in remission and the public now knew who he was. He was a walking dead man.

The room was silent other than the brewing coffee and crinkle of the packaged donuts. It remained that way until Walt had finished his first cup of coffee and Jesse had placed the food to the side.

"Can we, like… turn the TV on or something?"

Jesse's soft voice broke Walt from his gaze. He quickly grabbed the remote and powered on the television screen. He probably should have turned it on in the first place just for background noise. It didn't occur to him right away but Jesse probably wasn't a big fan of silence. He probably needed something he could occupy his mind with.

Walt set his mug aside on the nightstand, once again finding himself spaced out. He blinked a few times before he recognized a rerun of one of the CSI shows playing. It was the one with the red headed guy. What was it—CSI: Miami? Skyler always watched those shows. They were all the same to Walt.

He cleared his throat and changed the channel. The last thing they needed to watch was some fake criminal show with death and rape. He shook the thought and kept flipping the channels until he stopped on HGTV. One of those shows where new home owners were buying their first home. Another show Skyler watched, Walt noted.

"What do you think your plans are? I mean, once everything settles," Walt tried for conversation. He missed the look Jesse shot in his direction.

"Serious?"

Walt nodded. "Sure, yes."

"I never thought past…" Jesse paused. "I never thought past any of that. Never gave it any thought."

It suddenly felt like old times. Like they were kicked back drinking a couple beers together. Back when everything was decent. Walt was just happy to hear Jesse's voice and to be able to get him to talk.

"Well… Now you can."

"I'm gonna go to jail." Jesse's voice was so flat. Like he had already chosen his destiny, defeated, and it ended behind bars if he made it out alive.

"You're not going to jail. I told you: once I turn myself in, the DEA won't even bother to come after you. You have a free card. You can do whatever you want." Walt shook his head. "Okay, fine. In a perfect world, what would Jesse Pinkman do now?"

The television filled the silence as Jesse seemed to ponder at the question.

"I don't know. I…" Jesse buried his face in his hands. "Andrea…"

Walt's fatherly instinct kicked in and he wanted to try and comfort him but instead told himself to stay put. He didn't want to spook Jesse with close contact.

There was a long pause before Jesse picked his head up from his hands. "Brock. I'd—I'd want him to be okay. He doesn't…" Jesse wiped at his eye. "He doesn't have anyone…"

"That's not so impossible now, is it?" Walt suggested, "I'm sure you could do that."

He was fairly certain Jesse would have argued with him but for his sake, Jesse only nodded.

"What about you, Mr. White?"

Jesse's eyes landed on him and they made brief eye contact before Walt had to look away. He couldn't bear to look at him like this under these circumstances. It never really dawned on him before but he truly wanted Jesse to be okay in the end.

Luckily, Walt hadn't been coughing a whole lot lately. His cancer's return had slipped under the radar—Jesse seemed to be completely unaware and Walt planned to keep it that way. The way Walt saw it, he figured he didn't have much time left anyway.

"I have a vague idea."


	4. Chapter 4

"I didn't rat you out."

Jesse was explaining to Walt how he really was going to burn his house down and how Hank had found him. Hank followed him from Saul's place and caught him in the act, brought him back to his house. Jesse did everything Hank asked because he wanted to bring Walt down just as much.

But then everything went downhill. Walt lost his composure, Jack's crew came, Hank and Steve Gomez were killed.

And Jesse. Jesse wasn't a coward.

"It's alright. I know…"

Walt was standing in front of Jesse as the younger man was seated on the bathroom counter. He was trying to clean and bandage some of Jesse's wounds. Some of them looked infected. He tried not to think about the fact that this was the worst Jesse had ever been. Worse than Tuco, worse than Gus, worse than anything or anyone in between. It did have Walt questioning Jesse's state of mind but Jesse was speaking and he seemed… okay, for lack of a better word.

He'd probably need a psychiatrist.

Jesse flinched at Walt's touch as Walt pulled both of his hands back, unsure if he had just hit a tender spot or if he triggered something. He muttered a quick apology and resorted to only using his right hand to dap some Neosporin on the cuts that littered Jesse's face. Jesse shut his eyes.

"There's not a whole lot I can really do. We'll just have to try this for a little while and see if it helps. Might—" Walt erupted into a coughing spell without warning, turning from Jesse and almost doubling over. He cursed to himself in his head and it felt like minutes had passed before he could straighten back out and look at Jesse.

"So, your cancer's back?"

Walt shook his head and hands simultaneously. "Nothing to worry about. It's just a cough. I've always had it—you remember."

Jesse didn't say anything in response. He just lowered his head. Whether he believed Walt's little white lie or not was beyond him.

"I need to… make a trip." Walt cleared his throat. "I want to return to the hangar and get things settled. I figured you would just stay here and try to get some rest."

This time Jesse nodded without any hesitation and the shiver that ran through him didn't go unnoticed by Walt. He didn't want to mention the abandoned hangar but he didn't want to just tell Jesse he was leaving and that he'd be back sometime later. He needed to find his money, secure it, and make sure he erased any evidence that he or anyone else was ever there. He'd burn it to the ground if all else failed.

Walt left the bathroom and started heading for the door to the motel room. He instantly noticed Jesse had followed him up until a point. "I'll be back when I can. Is there anything you'd like me to get while I'm out?"

Jesse shook his head.

"I know this room isn't the most ideal location but neither of us are exactly safe on the outskirts of Albuquerque. It's best that we stay here when we can. I'll try to make it fast."

* * *

Jesse shivered at Mr. White's words. He tried to cover it up by rubbing his arm but it didn't matter because Mr. White wasn't even looking in his direction anymore. He had already slipped his shoes on and shortly after that, left.

Jesse screwed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth. If he was being honest, he didn't want to be alone. Even if his company was Mr. White, the one man he despised—_should_ despise—more than anyone on the face of the earth. Or he was at least up there with Todd and Jack and Kenny and those other men whose names all just started to run together after months of confinement and... and…

But Mr. White was trying to help him now. He was always trying to help him…

Wasn't he?

…When he wasn't killing everyone Jesse loved or cared about, or poisoning them.

Jesse patted down his pockets before quickly realizing he didn't even have pockets. He was wearing sweatpants.

_The picture_.

"No…" Jesse felt momentarily paralyzed as he tried to recall what happened since Mr. White had gotten him out of there. He had showered. The picture was in his pocket before that.

Jesse felt his heart rate spike. He couldn't have lost it. He couldn't of…

He ran back to the bathroom all while practically tripping over himself and holding his left hand over his bruised ribs. His clothes were missing. The clothes he was wearing when Mr. White found him were gone.

_No, no, no_.

How did he not notice it missing sooner?

Jesse fought back the tears that threatened to run as he leaned against the doorframe to the bathroom looking out toward the room. His eyes searched the room before he stopped at the TV and noticed something sitting beside it. The picture.

One hand cradling his ribs and the other wiping at his eye, Jesse slowly walked over to the dresser and glanced down at it. He brushed his fingers over the photo, shutting his eyes before picking it up and staring at it.

It was just a picture. Maybe he should feel ridiculous for almost losing his shit over it. But that picture was all he had left. That and his memories. But his memories weren't exactly something he wanted access to right now… Seeing Todd speaking to Andrea late that night on her front porch. The look on her face like she was worried about him when instead, she should have been worried about herself. She never should have answered the door.

Jesse should have never tried to escape.

The gunshot still echoed in his head. The image of her lifeless body crumbling to the ground. Todd apologizing to him—"sorry for your loss"—like he wasn't the prick who shot her in the back of the head.

Then the thought of Brock possibly waking up and finding his mom like that. All by himself, alone.

Jesse wasn't sure how long it had been since then but looking down at the photo in his hand, he knew one thing was certain. He had to find Brock.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** I'm a bit iffy on this chapter. And I've been doing some thinking for this fic, came up with something but not sure if it'd work out or not. But now I'm determined to make it work because I think it'd be fun. Ugh, my mind needs to shut itself off before I'm in way over my head. Haha.

* * *

Walt spent most of his day at the abandoned hangar disposing of evidence once he located the seven barrels of his money. He thought about just trying to load them into Jack's truck and leaving but decided against it. All of their vehicles would have to stay put and burn with everything else. So he spent a good chunk of time emptying the cash by handfuls into the trunk of his car.

By the time he had finished doing that, he made sure that all of the bodies and all of the vehicles belonging to Jack's crew were crammed into their little meth lab and set it ablaze. He watched for a short time, watched the burning flames eat away at all of it and distort it beyond recognition. He watched until he heard a faint siren in the distance alerting him that someone had seen the smoke and called the fire department.

As he sat there, he thought about the small capsule of ricin he still kept in his pocket. It felt like lead, growing heavier and heavier since he had grabbed it from his house. His old house. He questioned himself about who he was saving it for. Elliot? Himself?

Jesse?

It was near sunset by the time Walt had returned to the motel and parked his car. He frowned upon the realization, the fact that he had left Jesse alone for most of the day. But he did what needed to be done and there was no way he could have had Jesse come with him. He couldn't make him relive any of that.

Walt unlocked the door to the motel room to find Jesse sitting on the edge of his bed. He pulled the door shut and slid the chain in place to lock it before turning his attention back to Jesse. He was sitting on the bed with the photograph in his hands. It looked like his gaze was fixed on the floor.

"Jesse?" Walt stared at him. He hadn't moved since he stepped foot in the room. It didn't seem like he was there with him. He couldn't help but wonder how long Jesse had just been sitting there.

He was definitely going to need some psychological help…

"Jess—"

"I can't do it," were the only words that left Jesse's mouth. His stare was still fixed somewhere down and in front of him.

"You can't do… what, exactly?"

"I can't do it," Jesse repeated, slightly shaking his head. "I—I can't see Brock again. I can't…"

Walt, brow furrowed, put his hands up as if to surrender. "What?"

"I can't see him again. I can't… physically face him. Not after—not after everything…"

Walt could see Jesse's body jerk as he tried to stifle his crying, a couple tears leaking from his eyes. Jesse was like a ticking time bomb of emotions and Walt sensed it was only a matter of time before he completely lost it.

"Of course you can. You can face him, Jesse," Walt tried. He cautiously stepped closer to Jesse and debated sitting next to him. "Brock needs you. Think about it. You're probably the only person he'll want to see."

Walt startled at the sudden sob that escaped Jesse. Apparently he had said the wrong thing.

"No—no, he—he doesn't need me. He can't die too."

Walt sat down beside Jesse, ignoring the fact that the close proximity could set Jesse off further. "Brock's life isn't in danger. All of the threats—anyone who could pose as a threat—is dead."

Walt gingerly placed a hand on Jesse's shoulder but Jesse unexpectedly turned to him and clutched at his shirt, his face buried in Walt's chest. Walt felt as though he were in shock now because Jesse clinging to him and crying on him was the last thing he ever expected. He carefully placed his hands on his back, patting him gently a few times before he ultimately let his hands rest there when he realized Jesse wasn't moving away.

Maybe this was good for Jesse. Maybe he just needed to sob and cry and get it all out of his system. He could pick up the pieces later, just so long as he still had a little bit of composure.

Walt tried to ignore how much this felt like Jane's death all over again.

After what felt like a few minutes passed, Walt tried coaxing him. Jesse remained curled up against him in his embrace.

"I want to help you as much as I can, Jesse. I do. And I want you to do what is best for you." Walt paused to gauge how Jesse was taking it. Jesse's status hadn't changed so Walt continued, "Brock isn't in danger. You're not in danger. He needs you. But you… you need to help yourself first."

After a moment, Jesse hiccupped. "H-help myself how?'

"When I turn myself in, I'm going to leave you some money. I want you to do whatever you think is necessary. Whatever you _want_." Walt didn't want to tell him what to do. Jesse was smart. He'd see what an appropriate action to take was.

Jesse sat upright and wiped his face. He at least seemed to be calming down.

"I don't know what to do. Everyone's… gone."

Walt wasn't sure if he was expecting Jesse to beg him not to turn himself or… Well, he wasn't sure what he was expecting. But by Jesse's response, Walt gathered that he still wanted him dead or locked up. How it would have been had Jack's crew not shown up. Hank would still be alive and Jesse would have gotten what he wanted then, without having to experience the trauma.

Walt got to his feet and walked over to his bed, leaving Jesse where he sat, his stare having now returned to the picture that was still in his hands. He figured he would leave it at that, let Jesse think about his future and what he truly wanted to do. Jesse would have to start somewhere and if Walt led him now, what would Jesse do when he was gone?

Jesse would be fine.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** First of all, I can't believe the number of views on this. Thanks for reading.

I've had this chapter finished for a while. I'm actually up to chapter 9 right now, but I think I'm going to rework some things. I almost redid this chapter as it was but decided to stick with it. Hopefully y'all still like it so far.

* * *

"Did those pills work? The ones I gave you, I mean. Did they help you sleep any better?"

Walt rustled around in the bag of medication and started to read the labels again. And since Jesse had calmed down again, he was hoping to keep it that way.

"I guess." Jesse gave a noncommittal shrug.

Walt bit his tongue from lashing out a "either they help or they don't, which is it, Jesse?" and shook a couple pills out anyway. They had to have some sort of effect on him.

He eyed the Gatorade bottle that sat on the table, half empty, before glancing over at Jesse. Jesse wasn't even looking in his general direction—he was lying down on his side again, facing away from Walt.

He could slip the ricin into the Gatorade and put Jesse out of his misery. He wouldn't feel too great afterwards but he'd most likely fall asleep and… well, never wake up. Hell, with Jesse's current attitude and condition, Walt could probably give him just about anything with a little coaxing and put him out of his misery. It'd be less frightening than a bullet. Unsuspecting too.

As if testing his theory, Walt took the two pills and the half empty bottle of Gatorade over to Jesse. All he had said was "here" and Jesse sat up long enough to take the pills, hardly eyeing him like he had the last time before lying back down on his side.

Jesse had handed the Gatorade bottle back to Walt before turning his back to him again. Walt set it down on the nightstand and sat on the edge of his own bed, staring. He could do it and it would be that simple. Jesse still trusted him enough after everything—or maybe Jesse just didn't care if he woke up the next morning or not.

He could go through with it, poison Jesse, and stay by his side until the end. He could feed him a bunch of bullshit lies about why he felt so weak and sick, tell him everything would be alright. Then he could finish his business and…

Twenty minutes had passed before he knew it and the quietest of snores broke his thought process. Walt refocused his stare on Jesse. He could see the rise and fall of his chest, his breathing having deepened and evened out.

Walt stood, went to reach out for him but froze. He tried again and gently placed his hand on Jesse's bicep. "Jesse?"

No response. Jesse was already out cold.

No matter how it could be done, he couldn't kill him. Not with the ricin, not with a gun, not by smothering him in his sleep… Walt shook the thoughts from his head. Jesse was like family. Standing there and seeing him sleep only reminded him of his family—Skyler, Junior, Holly.

He shook the thoughts from his head again. He grabbed the blanket and pulled it up over Jesse to his shoulders. He'd see his family again. He had to.

It wasn't over.

* * *

Jesse lost track of the days again but his reflection in the mirror was starting to resemble an old form of himself. He tended to keep a little bit of stubble to avoid nicking any of the already existing cuts with the razor and his hair had grown out to about how he used to keep it. His face was starting to look remotely better, no longer as terrifying if he were to venture out into the public. The deeper lacerations were turning out to be scars and Mr. White had explained there was some type of medication, some type of ointment, that Jesse could put on them to help them fade.

Mr. White had left a few hours ago. Only this time, he wasn't coming back.

He had shook Jesse's hand and told him he was glad to have been his teacher, glad that he had gotten to know him. He didn't really say much else but what more was there to say? Anything else would have been a lie: "It's been a pleasure doing business with you" or "I've enjoyed these past two years" because seriously, the past two years had been hell and the business they were involved in had no redeemable pleasure. Just death.

Mr. White had said he was sorry. For what it was worth.

Jesse tried not to think too much about any of it. He just tried to focus on the now. He tried to focus on Brock and how he was going to pull his life together in order to even see him again. He had looked it all up before, how foster care and all of that worked. He had given it a thought back when he found that kid, the little boy with the red hair and goofy smile, trapped with those meth heads for parents. But he had done the next best thing and he dialed 911 to get him out of there. Jesse nor his lifestyle were fit to try and raise some kid. Especially since he was pretty sure that kid would have needed a lot of attention—more attention than Jesse would have been able to give him.

Things were different now. Jesse would figure everything out and he'd do it by himself. Mr. White had left him a bag full of cash that only the two of them could guess how much was in it. The rest would go to Mr. White's wife and kids but Mr. White never explained how he planned to do it. But that man was the smartest man Jesse had ever met. He didn't have a doubt in the world that Mr. White got the money to his family.

Mr. White had dropped Jesse off at a different motel for the next night or two, just as a precaution. He had explained that once he turned himself in, Jesse needed to give it some time before he went home. There was a small part of Jesse that wasn't even sure his house would still be standing, like it might have been blown up in the time that he had been… gone.

There was also a small part of Jesse that didn't believe Mr. White was going to actually turn himself in. But when he thought about it, it didn't sound like he had much left to live for either. And Jesse knew his cancer was back. So maybe he was just tired of running. Maybe he was just doing everyone a favor. Finally.

It was the following day when the silence of the small motel room had become deafening and Jesse resorted to turning the television on for noise. He started to flip through the channels but something caught his eye. He found himself glued to the screen, his mouth agape.

"…_Hardened criminal, Walter Hartwell White, has stepped forth to the authorities and turned himself in. Walter White was further known as the infamous Heisenberg, a drug kingpin who was the vast manufacturer and distributor of the well-known 'Blue Sky' methamphetamine_…"

Jesse watched the footage as it showed an officer patting Mr. White down before instructing him to turn around. Mr. White lowered his hands behind his back where the officer clamped the metal cuffs around his wrists and was then led to the back of the squad car.

Jesse subconsciously rubbed at his own wrist and shut his eyes. It was over. Mr. White was telling the truth. He turned himself in. He was in police custody. No one was coming to break him out. It was all _real_.

It was _over_.

Jesse switched the channel after feeling like his heart was about to beat out of his chest. He didn't know this feeling that had washed over him, didn't understand it. Was he upset that this was how it was going to end? What exactly was he expecting?

He knew he would never truly forgive Mr. White for everything he did. But no matter what, he felt like he was the only person Jesse could ever turn to. He had lost everyone. And now Mr. White had been included on that list. There was no way he was making it out of jail and there was no way Jesse was going to pay him any visits.

The only thing that was left to do now was wait. Mr. White had advised it best that Jesse wait a while after he turned himself in and that was exactly what Jesse planned to do, no matter how stir crazy he felt in that motel room.

* * *

Jesse allowed a full 24 hours to pass after seeing Mr. White on the news. He couldn't bear to wait much longer and whether he was being careless or not, he didn't care. He had never wanted to return home this bad before.

And when the cab pulled up outside his house, Jesse was surprised to see it still standing and in the same condition he had left it some months ago. He paid the cabbie and gripped the bag of cash in his hands, toting it around toward the back of his house. He of course no longer had his keys so entering through the front door would prove to be a difficult task. Luckily, Jesse had come to find out he misplaced his keys frequently enough that he always left a back window cracked, allowing him to slip in. Like breaking and entering into his own home.

Jesse set the bag down in the upstairs hallway before trying the lights, only to find that his electricity had been shut off. The thought of someone cutting the power and lurking somewhere in the shadows suddenly hit him. But he had to remind himself that was stupid, that he had been gone for a minimum of a few months most likely, and since he wasn't here to pay the bills, they had killed the power until payment could be received.

He probably had a shit ton of mail to tend to.

While there was still some light left outside, Jesse grabbed a quick shower and threw on some of his own clothes. He dragged the bag of cash into his room and threw it in the corner before eyeing the bedroom door. He debated on moving something over to barricade it, something heavy enough that would keep the door shut or provide whoever tried to break in one hell of a time trying to get him, but decided against it, Mr. White's words playing in his head: "You're not in danger". He locked it and double checked his window. Once he was assured everything was locked up and he felt remotely safe, Jesse burrowed himself under the covers of his bed to try and get some sleep. He had a lot to do…

He'd start tomorrow.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **I know nothing about foster care/adoption and how it all works. Therefore, I am completely winging it so hopefully it's somewhat believable. (I'm up for advice.)

* * *

The moment Jesse stepped foot in his house, he wanted to grab what was absolutely essential and get the hell out of there—drive until he couldn't anymore, move away, change his name. He just wanted to get as far away from Albuquerque as possible and all the nightmares that came with it.

But the next morning, when he found himself sitting on the edge of his bed, having not moved very far or made much of an effort to do anything yet, Jesse knew why he didn't act on that impulse. He couldn't leave Albuquerque without Brock. He couldn't leave until he knew Brock was okay. Maybe Brock didn't have to see him again, maybe his absence would be better. But if Jesse was going to make any of that happen, he'd have to stick around for a while.

That meant he had to tend to whatever bills he had missed, pay them off and get his house back in running shape. He couldn't live there without power. He was lucky they hadn't shut his water off yet.

For the first half of the day, Jesse kept himself busy and kept any and all of his thoughts at bay as he sorted out his so-called debt problem. He had to find the nearest payphone in order to contact a couple places but in the end, Jesse got it all figured out.

Afterward, he had gotten into his car and drove over to Brock's grandmother's house. He remembered where she lived after having picked Brock up from there one day for Andrea. It was a possibility that Brock's grandmother would have taken him.

He sat in his car down the street and kept an eye on the house. He was able to put together pretty quickly that Brock's grandmother still lived there, her vehicle still sitting in the driveway, but it didn't seem like Brock was there. And when he watched her get into her car and leave the house alone it gave Jesse the answer he was looking for.

He had to find Brock.

It was when he headed to the library to do a little research when his mind started to slow down. He had to keep reminding himself that he was looking for any information that he could in order to contact Brock or find his whereabouts. It took him a while but he was able to come across a number that he hoped would do the trick.

And back to the payphone he went. With shaky fingers, he dialed the number and listened to the steady ringing.

He needed to buy a new cell phone.

On the fourth ring, a woman's voice answered. Jesse hardly picked up anything that she said. He was fairly certain he had the right number. But he suddenly felt panicked. He came close to hanging up but instead, gripped the phone harder.

"Uh… hi," Jesse started. He pressed his forehead against the top of the payphone and shut his eyes. "I, uh… I don't, I don't really know what I'm doing…"

"…What can I help you with, sir?"

"I'm sorta… looking for someone." Jesse rubbed the side of his face. What was he doing?

"I may be able to help you with that. Were you looking to adopt?"

Jesse's eyes shot open at the mention of adoption. "What? Is that… That's an option?" He shook his head. "Of course it's an option… Sorry… It's just, I'm looking for someone. Someone in particular. Brock. Brock Cantillo."

There was some faint clicking of computer keys in the background. "I'm sure I could arrange some meetings if this is something you are interested in. I am guessing you know Brock personally?"

"Yeah…" was all Jesse could mutter.

"Well, as I said, I could see about some meetings. You'll need to speak to Debra. She's our head advisor. I'm sure she could get you set up with all the proper logistics, paperwork, etc. Then of course we'll have to do some screening."

"Screening?"

"A sort of homestudy. You'll talk with a social worker. You'll need to provide your certification of birth, any marriage license if valid, child abuse clearances, personal references. And any illnesses or diseases you may currently have. Your mental health."

Jesse tried to register everything the woman had rattled off. The one thing that really stood out to him though was the last part. His mental health. Maybe he wasn't ready for any of this. Maybe it was a bad idea. How was he ever going to get past all of that?

"Is there a number you'd like to leave for us to reach you at?"

"No," Jesse quickly replied. "I'll… call back."

He hung up the phone and slightly beat his head against it, sighing. Maybe all he really wanted was to just find out if Brock was okay or not. Maybe he did want to see him, but without Brock seeing him in return.

Adoption though. He could _adopt_ Brock. Andrea would want that, wouldn't she? She trusted him. And Brock liked him—at least as far as he knew, he still did.

If he adopted Brock, he'd do everything humanly possible to give that kid one hell of a good life. It would be a start. Something to try and make up for all of the shit he had already been through in his six years of life.

Jesse turned to head back to his car. He shoved his hands in his pockets and kept his head down, staring at the cracks in the sidewalk. But something caused him to look back up and he noticed a guy. He froze, his eyes watering at the image before him. Gray hair, pulled back into the smallest of ponytails. Stubble on his chin. That scar on his face. The Nazi insignia tattooed on his neck.

No. No, he was dead. Mr. White killed him. Mr. White killed _all_ of them.

The man was walking toward him on the sidewalk and Jesse took a couple steps back.

"Hey… You okay, kid?"

Jesse ran his hands through his hair and clamped his eyes shut. He muttered, "You're dead… You're not here…"

"…Excuse me?"

Jesse opened his eyes and through blurred vision noticed that the man in front of him looked nothing like how his mind imagined. He was just some old guy—no scar, no tattoo. It wasn't Jack.

Jesse clutched his keys in his hand and bolted for his car. His hands were shaking so bad he could barely find his car key in the mix and get the door unlocked. He sat down behind the wheel and slammed the door shut, his hand smacking the lock. He turned his head away from the window and hugged the steering wheel as he tried to calm himself, his heart racing and his ribs starting to protest the rapid short breaths.

Maybe he needed to help himself first.


	8. Chapter 8

It took Jesse a couple days to find someone who could help him. A doctor—a psychiatrist, or shrink. Someone who he could talk to professionally that would be able to help him. Something confidential.

His name was Dave. He had some sort of PhD in psychology or some shit.

And it felt like he was in the Schrader's household all over again, sitting on the couch, holding a mug of coffee only offered out of the kindness of Mrs. Schrader, used like a bargaining chip to get the upper hand on Mr. White. Confessing to everything on tape.

But Jesse wasn't confessing anything to a tape. He technically wasn't confessing, period. He just talked. Talked about everything, really. How Jesse couldn't really sleep, and when he did, it was anything but pleasant. How he heard things that weren't really there, saw things that weren't really there.

He was told to start from the beginning and so he did, explaining how he felt growing up.

How his parents treated him like gold before Jake was born. Then how he was no longer considered the baby of the family and how he had made the decision to move out when he was around sixteen or seventeen, to go live with his aunt for a while.

How he became her primary care provider and how he had never felt so close to anyone before in his entire life. How he watched her life slip between the cracks as the cancer spread through her body, metastasized to her brain and destroyed any evidence that same woman was Jesse's aunt.

How he started to feel depressed after a while from the lack of encouragement from his parents and his aunt's declining health, that he met some new people, tried pot for the first time, and kept going back to it. Then he had moved up to meth, became addicted. His grades starting slipping more and by the time graduation rolled around, he was surprised he had even made it.

Then he talked about Mr. White. How he had him junior year chemistry and how he was the only teacher who really got on his ass about his grades and putting forth an effort. How years later Mr. White showed up at his house and basically threatened to start cooking meth with him.

Jesse just kept going and told Dave _everything_. The deaths and murders, Tuco, Gus and Los Pollos Hermanos, the ricin, the Mexican cartel, Jane, Tomas, Gale, Mike.

The abandoned hangar. Todd. Jack and Kenny. By the time he had reached that point, he wasn't sure if he could keep going. He was already in tears, shaking, stumbling over the words his brain tried to find.

"Why don't you take a break? We can pick this up at a later date," Dave suggested as he set his pen down. His wrist had to be aching by now, dealing with Jesse over the past couple weeks. The man probably regretted allowing Jesse to be a patient of his.

Jesse appreciated Dave's kindness but he forced himself to keep going. He continued to tell him everything he remembered because he knew he'd back out if he didn't do it now.

How Jack wanted to kill him right there on the spot when Mr. White gave away his location. How Todd spoke up and saved him from having his brains blown out of his head. How Todd had been the one to tie him to a chair and beat him until he told them everything. How they had shackled him and kept him in a hole in the ground like a prisoner and forced him to cook with Todd.

And it only got worse the longer he had been kept alive. His lungs burned and his ribs constantly ached. Todd had stopped Jack from killing him again and he wasn't sure why… Jack calling him a pussy, asking if he always cried like that, if he had some sort of history with abuse. Asked him if he liked it, if he got off on it. Told him if he was going to act like a pussy, he could take it like a pussy…

Jesse shut his eyes but it didn't shut the memories out.

"Todd killed Andrea. He shot her in the back of the head and all I could do was watch." Jesse wiped at his face again and inhaled a shaky breath. "I just felt… numb after that. Her life was the reason I didn't want to give up and I fucked it up. I felt like I deserved it then—everything that they did to me… I just wanted them to go through with Mr. White's order."

_I'm the bad guy._

"Well, Jesse, you made it here. You're talking to me. You must have had a change of heart, right?" Dave was staring at him, his face like a blank slate. He didn't have that harsh edge to his voice like Mr. White would get. He wasn't judging him like Mr. White would—no name calling or putting him down. Strictly professional and nothing personal.

Jesse nodded. "Brock, Andrea's son. I—I think I want to adopt him. I'm just not… ready."

"I think you've certainly made the right decision thus far. Confronting your problems head on is tough and you've done that, Jesse. You're doing it now. You're a strong individual to have been through what you've been through and to still be standing here in my office. A lot of people wouldn't have been able to do what you're doing now."

"I don't feel like I've done anything."

"In time." Dave nodded. "Tell me about Brock. You said you _think_ you want to adopt him?"

"Right…" Jesse rubbed the back of his neck. "I just want what's best for him. Not saying it's me but… I don't know. I just don't want him to live in some foster home or in foster care. I just want him to be okay… to feel loved and feel like he has someone, you know?"

* * *

The more time passed, the more Jesse thought he wouldn't be able to do anything for Brock. In order to adopt him, he'd have to be able to prove he was physically fit to. Dave had written out a few different prescriptions for Jesse and the more he stared at the bottles of pills, the crazier he felt. Maybe he could just wait until Brock found a family and send him money to get by. Wasn't that what Mike had done for his granddaughter?

Jesse sat back on his futon with an exasperated sigh and rubbed his face. He almost forgot about Kaylee Ehrmantraut. He missed Mike.

He missed Andrea.

Maybe it was a good thing Jesse had broke up with her when he did. Maybe it lessened the pain of her being gone. Maybe Brock didn't really remember him. Maybe Brock was better off without him.

Maybe Jesse didn't have a purpose in life after all.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Jumping around a bit. My goal is to try and wrap this up in the next chapter. Hopefully it'll all flow okay.

* * *

Jesse wanted to get better, wanted to get past all of it. He wanted to better himself for Brock. Dave had been the one to ultimately push him, convince him that he could do it. It started to become a realistic goal that Jesse kept in the back of his mind. It gave him something to work toward.

It had become a long journey of legal documentation, trying to adopt Brock, but he was on his way. Things were making progress—_he_ was making progress. And it all felt strange.

It was about a month since Jesse had started seeing Dave. A part of him still wasn't sure he was ready yet but Dave assured him that he'd be fine. In fact, Dave even vouched for him on some of the paperwork that needed to be completed in the whole adoption process.

It was about another week after that when Jesse was able to see Brock. He had cleaned himself up the best that he could and shaved his head, his hair having been long overdue for a cut anyway. The visits started with the social worker, something mandatory to ensure they would be a "compatible match". It took everything Jesse had to not cry when he saw him that first day, knowing that was it. Andrea wasn't coming. Andrea was gone. It was up to him to make things right, by himself.

The first couple visits were the hardest. Jesse wasn't used to seeing anyone other than Dave, really. And he certainly wasn't used to seeing Brock with some social worker in his house. It felt awkward, like he was being watched. Technically, he was.

Brock had asked him where he had been and why he had been gone for so long. Why he had scars on his face. And it took everything Jesse had once again to try and keep his composure. He gave Brock the simplest of answers he could fathom and told him he had been in a tough spot, that he had an accident. Brock just accepted it.

Jesse started to feel lighter having Brock around. He was beginning to feel like he had a purpose in the world after all—even though what had happened to Brock had been his fault in the first place. But having Brock around, Jesse started to feel… better. For the first time in a long time.

* * *

"Hey, Jesse? Can we get a movie this weekend?"

Jesse forced a smile. "Yeah, of course."

It had become official. Brock Cantillo Pinkman. There were no more social workers, no more visits. Brock was _living_ with him now. It took a couple months but it was _real_.

Brock was sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast. Cereal to be exact. Maybe not the most nutritious thing he could be eating but Jesse would have to make a point and run to the store with him later. He didn't even know what Brock really liked to eat but he said cereal was fine.

Jesse leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms in front of his chest, his stare locked onto Brock. Brock understood that his mom was with Tomas now and Jesse didn't know how he could be so strong, to just accept that. The kid was always quiet, ever since Jesse met him, so he didn't know how he was really taking it. Probably about as good as any six year old would. What scared Jesse the most was that Brock would just completely forget about his mom as he grew older.

* * *

After Jesse dropped Brock off at school and returned home, he actually almost thought about drawing. Something he hadn't done in a very long time. Probably not since high school. He couldn't help but think about the sketchpad he had shown Jane. Rewindo, or Backwardo, the interpretation that Jane had mentioned, saying he could travel back in time.

Jesse wished he could do that. He'd change a lot of things. First and foremost, he would have never said yes to Mr. White. He probably would have never met Jane or Andrea then. They would both still be alive. Along with everyone else that had been killed since he hooked up with the "great" Heisenberg.

He decided to clean up more around his house instead. Since he only really had his bedroom furnished, he figured he'd make it Brock's room. At least until he decided what to do. Leaving Albuquerque was still up on the list but with Brock in the middle of a school year, he didn't want to just uproot him and leave. Maybe once the school year was out and summer rolled around. He and Brock could get out of there and go anywhere.

* * *

Later that night, Jesse had put Brock to bed. He looked almost goofy being such a little guy in a queen sized bed and the blanket pulled up around him. Brock didn't say much since Jesse picked him up from school, just that his day was okay upon Jesse asking how it went. He remained just as quiet when Jesse walked out of his old bedroom and shut the door behind him.

Jesse walked back downstairs and ended up lying down on the futon shortly after, the only light source being that of the lamp sitting on the side table. He rolled onto his side so that his back was facing the television and shut his eyes. Sleep was still hard to come by and he knew he was only kidding himself in trying to.

The damn house had to be haunted. Haunted with memories if nothing else.

He had to get out of there with Brock, leave ABQ.

Jesse suddenly jolted awake in a panic, not even realizing that he had fallen asleep. He felt hot and the sweat that lined his brow only indicated he was having another nightmare. They were all starting to mesh together now: Todd, Jack, Mr. White, Andrea… But he felt something else. Something warm against his chest.

He glanced down, the lamp still providing a little light, and recognized Brock's petite form curled up against him. Brock had somehow managed to crawl over him and nuzzle into his chest, one small hand gripping onto his shirt.

Jesse wiped at his eyes the best he could without disturbing Brock only to find that he had apparently been crying in his sleep. He let out a shaky breath and wrapped an arm around Brock to pull him closer, like he was trying to gauge that Brock was really there and not a figment of his imagination. He felt terrible; that maybe he had yelled or did something in his sleep that caused Brock to wake up. Or maybe Brock couldn't stand to be by himself either.

At least they had each other.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** It kind of turned out the way I wanted it to I guess. And this is pretty much my headcanon. Just wanted to say thanks for reading and thanks for all the lovely reviews, follows, and favorites. I appreciate it. :)

* * *

Walter Hartwell White was dead. Somehow Jesse had avoided the news and practically all of the outside world, shut it all out. Mr. White had died shortly after his arrest. Like, a day or two after. Jesse wondered if his cancer was really that bad but didn't think that added up. He had still seemed okay back at that motel.

He tried not to think about it.

That same day he had heard the news, he ended up running into Mr. White's wife at the grocery store: same blonde hair, same piercing eyes, but she looked exhausted. And she had a little girl with her, who Jesse could only guess was Holly. The moment he had realized it was Skyler White, he had grabbed Brock's hand and made a quick exit before he could be spotted. Surely she would recognize him. And all he could think was that she would turn him in. He wasn't sure why the cops or DEA hadn't come after him anyway. Not unless Mr. White had made some sort of confession to clear his name somehow.

Only Skyler _did_ see Jesse. She caught a glimpse of him holding Brock's hand and turning away. Jesse heard a soft voice call out a "hey" and as much as he wanted to ignore it, something in him couldn't. He took a deep breath, glanced down at Brock, and then slowly turned around to face Skyler.

"Pinkman… right?" she began.

Jesse released Brock's hand. He vaguely nodded. "Jesse, yeah."

There was something about her face, something about the way she was looking at him. It made him nervous and he couldn't help but fidget slightly. But she ended up smiling. A sad smile.

"How are you…" she paused, tucking her hair behind her ears. He noticed she took a quick glimpse of Brock before turning her attention back. "Are you doing okay?"

Jesse wasn't sure if he was hearing what he wanted to hear or if the words truly did come from his former partner's wife's mouth. He wasn't sure what all she knew but on some level she seemed to be sympathetic.

Jesse only nodded again, which elicited a nod from Skyler.

"That's good." She forced a smile. "Who's this little guy?"

Brock scooted a little closer to Jesse at the mentioning of him and stared up at the woman. He provided her with his name before slipping his hand back into Jesse's.

Then they were introduced to Holly. Neither said a whole lot after that but Jesse was pretty sure a lot of it was an unspoken understanding—a road that neither of them wanted to go down. Jesse respected Skyler for not digging for answers with Brock there. But even if there was an understanding, it was one of the most awkward encounters Jesse had experienced in a while.

* * *

By the time Brock was finally out of school for the summer, Jesse had asked him where he'd like to live. It had been way too long and Jesse needed to get out of ABQ now that he had the chance. Brock seemed indifferent about the whole process; he didn't have any place in mind when it came to leaving. So Jesse had suggested Alaska. When he mentioned there being snow and that Alaska was all the way across another country, which would involve flying in an airplane, Brock lit up.

Jesse packed up all the essentials and anything of importance that first week Brock was out for the summer. There really wasn't a whole lot, mostly clothes, but Jesse shoved it into his old beater of a car anyway. He didn't really have any houses in mind, hadn't looked any up. He just figured they could check into a hotel for a while and get the feel of it. Finally leaving New Mexico and getting the chance to start over fresh. Like Mr. White had said so many times over. Jesse could find a house he and Brock could live in, get a new car, he could find a decent job, get Brock enrolled in school, and maybe, eventually, he'd meet someone he could share the rest of his life with.

It was that morning they decided to take the trip to the airport. On the way there, Jesse had stopped at a small diner for breakfast where he and Brock both opted for pancakes. Brock was talking about the movie _Balto_ and asking if it was real, if there were dogs like that in Alaska. Then he had asked if they could get a dog like _Balto_.

"We'll see," had been Jesse's reply. Truthfully, he liked the idea of getting a dog. Maybe they could find a husky or something. That'd be about as close as they'd get to actually having a wolf as a pet.

Jesse grabbed for his coffee mug with both hands and carefully sipped the hot liquid. He ended up looking a bit past Brock who sat across from him in the little booth and spotted an older man seated at a table by himself. Jesse was sure he was seeing things again but no matter how many times he blinked the image didn't change.

Mike looked up right at that very moment, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

"Jesse!"

Jesse shook his head and set the mug back down, meeting Brock's stare. Brock had been calling his name a few times and got louder and louder with each one until he had reached through to him.

"How long is it going to be until we get there?" Brock inquired.

"I… I don't know. A few hours." Jesse looked back up and over toward where he had seen Mike sitting but found the seat to be empty. He did a quick scan of the diner and still came up empty. He had to be hallucinating. But the plate and mug were still on the table where he was…

When Brock and Jesse had finished eating, Jesse paid the bill and left a tip before they exited the diner and headed for his car. Jesse immediately spotted something sticking out from his windshield wiper, something white. His first thought was that it was a ticket but that would be ridiculous, considering he hadn't done anything wrong. But as they got closer he realized it was a folded up napkin.

Jesse grabbed it as Brock got into the car and buckled up, ready to go. His fingers slightly shook as he flipped the napkin over and found written in ink, "good luck, kid".

And for the first time in a long time, Jesse smiled.


End file.
